


Hearts Aflutter

by Turn_of_the_Sonic_Screw



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Chameleon Arch, F/M, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-15
Updated: 2016-11-15
Packaged: 2018-08-31 04:18:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8563750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Turn_of_the_Sonic_Screw/pseuds/Turn_of_the_Sonic_Screw
Summary: In which the Doctor finds being human to be a rather freeing experience, in more ways than one.
AU in which humans have always had wings but Time Lords never have.





	

“If your biology is so superior,” Clara teased, “why can’t you do this?” 

The Doctor’s hearts stopped as Clara took a running leap off the edge of the cliff. He forced himself back to his usual calm as she danced and pirouetted through the air before returning ~~to his side~~ to the ground. “There were several theories among those of my people who deigned to study humans, including the notion that a brain capable of the heightened _three-_ dimensional awareness needed to fly was incompatible with the _four_ -dimensional time sense that makes the Time Lords what we are.”

“I think you lot just lost your sense of fun,” Clara brushed him with a playful wingtip. “What do you think?”

He shrugged minutely. “I don’t know; I was only human once, very briefly.” 

“How does _that_ work?”

Her amused glare cut short his discourse on the mutagenic properties of the Chameleon Arch. “In a word, science. It takes the core of you, and translates it into a different sentient species.” 

“So I could be a Time Lady if I wanted to?” She cloaked herself in her wings. “Might be fun.”

“Theoretically. And I could be a human. If I wanted to be.” He stroked the bare skin of her back between her wings absently, making an obscenely large grin fill her face.

“Come on, we could go flying together. For an hour?” she pleaded. “For science?”

***

In humans, the color of the feathers tend to match the color of the hair. For Clara, this meant that her feathers were a rich brown ~~ruthlessly~~ regularly groomed for traces of grey. For the Doctor, this meant that his wings were plumed with shaggy silver.

They’re beautiful, Clara thought. But what she said was: “So, ready to go for a spin, Doctor?”

“I think so, Miss Oswald. You know, it’s quite nice to be able to remember who you are; I was obliged to forget my friend the last time I had to use this trick.” He beamed at her and took off headlong for the edge. 

She laughed, chasing after him as he whooped and looped. She never felt more alive than with him, and somehow soaring through the sun-warmed skies only heightened the feeling. If only they could bottle moments like this, she thought, as ravens wheeled above them.

Finally he came to rest, swooping to the top of a great pine. She perched across the swaying tree-tip from him, cheeks flushed with exertion. “Whooo!” she cried with exultation, rising with a note of surprise as her footing shifted. Instinctively, his wings wrapped protectively around her, and she nestled happily against his bare chest, face lifted towards his. “So, what do you think?”

“I think I love you.” His jaw dropped as his clumsy human brain caught up with his mouth. “I..” Without more, he flapped away, eyes wide with terror. 

***

“I want you to know that I can’t be held responsible for what I said while human.”

“Oh, are you going to blame that on inferior human hormones?” She spat angrily. “What happened to that being the core of you? I thought...” She turned away from him, feathers ruffled. “Oh, never you mind.”

He stood, stone-still, evidently surprised by having his words thrown back at him. “I am not denying what I said to you. What I meant to say,” he paused, weighing his next thought, “was that I was limited by human conceptions and methods of expression.” His hand rested gently on her shoulder. “What I meant was _this_ ,” and with that he pressed his forehead against the crown of her head. 

She gasped as the depth and breadth of his emotion suffused her. She staggered forward, disoriented. “So, were you planning on telling me how you felt anytime soon?”

“I, erm.” He felt vulnerable, especially in just his trousers--he didn’t own any shirts with vents for wings. “It never seemed like the right time.”

“So much for that time sense,” she poked his chest. “Come on, back to the Arch.”

“You want to go flying again?” 

“No, you daft man, I want to show you how I feel, and evidently my inferior human biology isn’t up to the task.”

“Oh, to be recording at that moment.”

“Not _my_ fault you turned the sound system into an army of robot animals.”

“Hush,” he said with a roll of his eyes. 

So she kissed him. “On second thought, maybe we could let the Chameleon Arch wait.”

“First you want me to be a human, then you want to be a Time Lord, then you’re just fine,” he huffed. “Next thing you know you’ll want us both to be Zygons.”

Her nose wrinkled. “Too many poison sacs for what I have in mind.”

“Which is?” He can feel the sweat evaporating from his exposed skin. 

“Maybe a different kind of...flying.” Her eyes twinkled with mischief. She tugged him after her, deeper into the TARDIS.

“Clara, the hangar is the other way. Or at least it was the last time I saw it,” the Doctor objected.

She took his hand and pressed it to her temple. “Can you sense...how I feel about you?”

A door, once opened… Why did that sound familiar, he wondered. “Yes.”

“Then you know what I want...and if you need to tell me to stop.” She waited, breathing shallow, until he nodded, and let his hands drop to the straps of her dress. It’s funny, she thought, I’ve stopped flying, but my heart is still turning loops. She kept her eyes locked on his as she undid his belt and shoved his trousers to his ankles. He stopped to fight with the tangled garment and his shoes, and followed her into the bedroom in just his socks. 

He gasped as she slipped her dress off of her shoulders, leaving just her wings to cover her, her tights already crumpled behind her. “The Doctor, speechless?” 

“Please, Clara, no more teasing.” Surely she can see how nervous, how needy he is with those big eyes. It took all of his reflexes to be ready for her as she hops with a flap of her wings into his arms: all warm and smooth in his hands, all soft and strong curled around him, their hearts thundering against each other. One hand found her folds as she held most of her weight for him. “Ready, then?” Her kiss was the only reply she gave him. 

Her wings pistoned as he entered her, sending them staggering around the bedroom, finally collapsing onto the mattress. “My angel,” he breathed as she mounted him. 

“Flatterer.” He looked up at her, confused, as her fingers raked across his chest like talons. “You really think that, don’t you?” His hips twitched gently up into her. “Bastard,” she hissed, “what happened to no more teasing?”

“Well?” One eyebrow quirked up in question. 

“Time to show you how us humans communicate.” She grinned down at him. He returned the smile, though rather less predatorily. “So hush.”

“Yes’m,” he managed before her lips silenced his.


End file.
